


breathe in, breathe out

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Saren has always hated the hospital, but the aftermath of indoctrination makes dealing with being trapped in one a thousand times worse.





	breathe in, breathe out

**Author's Note:**

> from a tumblr prompt: a hoarse whisper “kiss me”
> 
> au where saren and nihlus both survive me1, as per usual

Breathe in. Breathe out. Flex nasal plates, flutter mandibles, stretch talons. Don’t speak. Just breathe, and take stock.

It was driving Saren  _nuts._

The doctors had promised he could go home soon, as soon as he finished physical therapy and his psychiatrist said it was okay. But the therapy was taking too long, and the shrink had nothing but contempt for him. He wanted to go home, back to the apartment, back to Nihlus, back to safety from the prodding tools and gawking faces. He’d be even happier if he could leave the Citadel entirely. He’d stay with Valis, in the apartment that used to be his brother’s. They’d relax, and talk about the mundane, and complain about hospitals, and never,  _ever_ speak of sentient death machines.

Fantasizing about what he’d do once he was free of the hospital was the only thing that kept him from wrecking his room in boredom. He’d asked for clay, but they’d assumed he would just make a mess and denied him. Rude. The councilor was supposed to come by later. He’d appeal the decision to him. Ierian had supported him after the attack, once he’d decided for himself Saren regretted what he’d done. He’d always been a trustworthy ally. He would listen.

He was supposed to be thinking about what happened, why he’d allied with Sovereign, why he’d allowed himself to sink to such a horrific level. He knew it was important. But every time he thought about it, he felt the tendrils snaking into his brain again, felt his plates trying to peel off his body, felt-

No. No. Stop. Stop it  _stop it don’t stop no bad no_

_nihlus valis nihlus nihlus **help me please please help nihlus make it stop**_

“Saren!”

His hands were ripped away from his head. He hadn’t even noticed they were there. His cowl hurt, his throat hurt, he was screaming, screaming, couldn’t stop, the screaming made the whispers stop made the pain stop made the control stop made the Reaper stop

His head jostled back and forth, hit the back of his cowl. Hands on his shoulders.  _Wrong._  He instinctively reached up to swat them off, and they moved to grab his wrists instead. He jerked back, snapping his jaws fiercely at reddish-brown-

Wait.

“Nihlus?”

The word gasped his way out of his throat, and he could have cried when bright green eyes met his own. “Nihlus,” he whimpered, and all the panic rushed out of him at once, and he all but collapsed into his mate’s arms, hiding his face in Nihlus’s cowl and chanting his name like a fervent prayer.

Nihlus froze for a moment, then cautiously wrapped his arms around Saren. “Shh, Saren, calm down, it’s alright,” he said, and the soothing subvocals whispering out of his cowl went straight to Saren’s heart. “I’m right here. What’s wrong?”

He tried to answer. He  _wanted_  to answer. He wanted somebody to know the monster in his mind, the terror waiting for him to let his guard down. The doctors said it would be better for him to confront it, face his fears, stop running away, but they didn’t have to  _live_  with it.

But his jaws locked up, his limbs froze in place, and all he could do was curl into a ball and sob, a broken noise jolting out of his lungs he’d hoped he’d left at his brother’s funeral pyre. Nihlus didn’t pry, instead wrapping his arms tighter around him, rubbing his head over Saren’s, and humming a low, comforting note.

Saren didn’t know how long they sat like that. Time passed strangely in the hospital. But eventually, his limbs went slack, his breathing evened out, and he leaned against Nihlus for comfort rather than support. “I’m sorry, Nihlus,” he breathed, and his subvocals trembled with sincerity.

Nihlus let out a long, low trill. “I know.”

Saren whined quietly, but it hurt his throat, so he stopped, settling his head into the hollow of Nihlus’s neck instead. “Ierian is supposed to come.”

“I know, Saren. He told me he’d be here after the work day ended. We have about an hour left.”

He started running his hand down Saren’s back, his claws catching occasionally on threads in his shirt. Saren took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to settle his nerves. It was okay. Nihlus was alive, he was alive, the Council was alive, Sovereign was dead. The Reapers were still coming, but Ierian and Nihlus and Shepard had all promised they would be ready when they got there. Saren still wasn’t sure he trusted Shepard, but he trusted Nihlus, and he trusted Ierian, and he supposed that would have to be enough.

He exhaled slowly, then tilted his head up, nudging the place where Nihlus’s jaw met his neck. “Nihlus,” he whispered, and his voice was so raw and hoarse from screaming he was surprised it worked at all, “Kiss me. Please.”

Nihlus’s hand stilled, and for a second Saren was afraid Nihlus would push him away. But instead, his mate lowered his head, and touched their nasal plates together, and the last quiver in Saren’s gizzard finally stilled.

The Reapers were still on their way, and he was trapped in the hospital, but at least Nihlus still loved him. He’d be okay.


End file.
